by Daphne Clair
‘Since when were you so sensitive about other people’s feelings?’ she scoffed.
‘Is that fair, Annys?’
No, she supposed. He’d been particularly cavalier with her feelings, but that didn’t make him a beast to everyone else. Particularly not to other women. She turned away from him, her lips tight.
‘If I could,’ Reid said, ‘I’d leave the ship now—’
‘That makes two of us,’ she muttered.
‘But I can’t, and neither can you. So we’re just going to have to put up with each other.’ He paused. ‘For what it’s worth, I wasn’t intending to be snide just now.’
‘It just came out that way.’
‘OK,’ he said angrily. ‘Maybe it did. I apologise for that.’
Apologising was something he didn’t do often. The least she could do was meet him halfway. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly, ‘if I took it the wrong way. You’re probably right. We ought to try to get along. It’s only for a short while. I might manage it, if you can just keep out of my way as much as possible.’
‘Right,’ he said tightly. ‘I’ll try to do that.’ He straightened and stepped back. ‘Not easy on a ship this size, though.’
She smiled faintly in agreement. ‘We should be able to manage it. Two minds with but a single thought...’
It wasn’t the most tactful of quotations, she realised, her voice trailing off. She looked at him ruefully, biting her lip, and Reid laughed.
Her smile widened. They had always shared a sense of humour. Regret tugged painfully at her heart. Once laughter had allowed them to skate over many difficulties, but laughter hadn’t been enough. And sex— lovemaking hadn’t been enough. In the end the anger, the hurt, had been too much, and the laughter had died with their love.
Reid was looking down at her now with something in his eyes that made her heart momentarily stop, and killed the smile on her lips. His hand came up, and she flinched as he gently grazed her jaw with his closed fist.
She could feel the warm, fleeting touch on her skin for ages after he had silently turned away and gone along the deck out of sight.
* * *
There was a full moon that night, and nearly everyone lingered late on deck, admiring the silver patina on the calm, limitless water. The pohutukawa growing on the island made silhouetted patterns against a starry sky, and gannets still wheeled silently like ghosts, circling the masts. Even the breeze was warm.
When nearly everyone had finally given up and gone to bed, Annys remained sitting at the stern, along with the crew member on anchor watch, hypnotised by the night’s beauty.
When she finally got up and grasped the shrouds, her foot on the rail, the sailor said, ‘Going up?’
‘Is it all right?’
‘If you’re careful. You’ve got your safety harness.’
‘Yes.’ She had it on over her sleeveless shirt, worn with shorts and rubber-soled shoes.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Enjoy yourself.’
She was sitting on the upper yard, one arm hooked about the mast, when she realised she had company. She wasn’t sure when Reid had come silently up the ratlines, hadn’t heard the snap of the clip on his safety harness. But he was settling on the other side of the mast, bare legs dangling from the yard. He’d pulled a dark T-shirt on over his swim briefs. In the moonlight she couldn’t tell what colour it was.
Her skin prickled, but he had just as much right to sit here as she. And he didn’t say anything, just acted as though she wasn’t there. Which suited her, she told herself, turning away to contemplate the sea.
A ripple about fifty feet away caught her attention. She thought she saw a fin, then another ripple, then more. She caught her breath as something large and silvery leapt from the water, a streak of cold fire.
‘Look!’ she said, her voice hushed, and Reid said, ‘Yes. I see him.’
Suddenly the sea was alive with a group of ten or twelve dolphins, streaking through the water, jumping, curving, the water flying off them like pieces of silver flame, sometimes two or three leaving the water at once, their gleaming bodies perfectly synchronised as they arced into the air and back into the sea.
And then they were gone, the water settling quietly as though they had never been there.
Annys let out a quiet sigh. She waited, hoping for their return, but knew that even if they came back it could only be an anticlimax to that first, unforgettable experience.
Reluctantly, she moved to climb down, finding Reid doing the same. They faced each other, both holding the mast, their hands inches from touching. He said quietly, ‘That was a once-in-a-lifetime thing.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed. He was saying, Don’t spoil it.
And she wouldn’t. That would be like wantonly breaking something priceless. ‘It was wonderful,’ she said.
Reid nodded. ‘Back to earth,’ he said, indicating the deck below. ‘You first?’
‘Thanks.’ She swung herself on to the ropes and began the descent.
CHAPTER FOUR
After breakfast next morning the sea had an oily calm. Near the rocks it was clear as tap water. Sitting in rubber dinghies, they could see huge orange long-fingered starfish and purple anemones settled around tumbled rocks amid waving pink, brown and green seaweed.
They rowed under rock bridges and among standing outcrops decorated with clinging plants and washed by little waves, and then into an enormous cave with rough white walls.
Flippers and snorkels were brought out, and Annys and several others donned oxygen tanks and masks and dived into the limpid water. Soon she was swimming above a forest of kelp on the sea floor, swooping along a wide drift of sand studded with paper nautilus shells and blue starfish, watching crabs scuttle lazily into rock crevices, admiring a lacy orange rosette, then something golden and branched. Glittering fingerlings shot by in front of her mask, sparkling like jewels flung in the water, and she stopped warily to inspect from a safe distance a bloated orange and red fish with nasty spines.
Others divers waved at her, and, looking up, she could see the less experienced snorkellers near the surface. Someone touched her arm, and she turned to see Reid pointing out a long yellow moray speedily undulating away from them.
In that silent world their differences seemed far away. They explored underwater valleys filled with muted sunlight, and soared like a couple of birds over hills forested with hard coralline growths and soft, pale sponges waving in the slight current. When they emerged from the water and swam to their separate boats, Annys was careful not to look in Reid’s direction. The rapport they had shared down there couldn’t survive the real, everyday world.
That night clouds covered the moon, a fresh breeze swept the deck, and Annys went to bed early.
The swimmers who appeared for the morning dip were noticeably fewer. There was a sharp, cold edge to the air, and Annys and Jane were the only two among the women brave enough to ignore it.
Some of the men were diving or jumping from the ratlines, and Jane said, ‘Let’s try it. Can you dive?’
Annys was willing. They climbed as high as they dared, higher than any of the men, and plunged down into the freezing, limpid water. ‘That’ll show them,’ Jane said with satisfaction when they surfaced.
It would too, Annys agreed silently, smiling back at her. Jane was a great believer in ‘girls can do anything’.
Jane looked up and pursed her lips in a silent whistle. ‘He’s going to do it from there!’
Following her glance, Annys was just in time to see Reid standing at the end of the lower yard, before he launched himself outward and came down in a perfect dive, arrowing into the water. The men cheered, and Annys gradually forced her heart into a normal rhythm. Reid was a good diver; he’d been senior champion in his schooldays, he’d told her once in a rare moment of reminiscence. His head appeared, bursting from the water, and he raised an arm to his admirers on deck.
‘Beat that, girls!’ someone called to them teasingly.
‘C
ome on,’ Jane said, her blood fired up. ‘We can do it.’
Knowing it was a silly bit of bravado, Annys followed her back to the ship’s side and up the ratlines, ignoring the men’s encouraging whoops and whistles. They reached the lower yard, and Jane looked at Annys enquiringly, her hand on the shrouds that would take them higher.
Annys nodded, and Jane, already climbing, said, ‘You don’t have to, you know.’
‘I know.’ Annys was right behind her as they reached the upper yard, putting her bare feet on the foot rope. ‘Let’s go,’ she said, inching along the yard.
She looked down when they were over the water, her stomach doing a slow revolution, and saw Reid’s black head thrown back, heard him shout, ‘Annys!’
She raised a hand and waved, then nodded at Jane and said, ‘Let’s go!’
They got their feet on the yard, poised momentarily, and launched themselves. The cold air rushed past her, then she was in the water, not as cleanly as Reid but it had been a creditable performance, she knew, even as the water took her deeper, deeper. It was a long way down.
She curved her body, reaching upward with her hands, saw the light above, Jane’s shadow still beside her, and another shadow on the surface, hurtling towards them.
She came up gasping, and Reid flurried to a stop near by and said, sounding oddly furious, ‘Are you all right?’
‘Of course I am,’ she said as soon as she’d got her breath. ‘Why not?’ She turned to Jane. ‘You OK?’
The girl spat out some water. ‘Yeah, sure.’ She raised a triumphant fist to the watchers on deck, who were clapping now.
Reid glanced up. ‘That was a hell of a high dive. Have you ever dived that far before?’
Jane said, ‘No, actually. Probably won’t again, either. It was fun though.’
Reid ignored her. ‘Have you?’ he asked Annys.
She squinted up at the yard. ‘Probably not,’ she said casually. ‘It was great, though. Want to try it with me?’
For a second she thought he’d take her up on it. She recognised the look on his face as the one he got when presented with a challenge. Then he said, ‘No. You’ve got goose-pimples. The water’s bloody cold this morning.’
It was, but she stubbornly wouldn’t admit she’d rather leave it, even after Jane had swum away from them and climbed the ladder to the ship.
Reid said as he watched the other girl climb on to the deck, ‘Whose idea was it, anyway, that silly bit of showing off?’
‘Jane’s,’ she told him. ‘And talking of showing off, what were you doing?’
‘I didn’t do it for anyone’s benefit but my own,’ he said.
‘Whose benefit do you think I did it for?’ she demanded.
For once he seemed stuck for a come-back. She laughed and said, ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Reid. I gave up trying to impress you ages ago.’ She dived under the water, coming up yards off, and swam away from him.
* * *
They hauled up the anchor again and continued the voyage. The captain made it known that he didn’t approve of people diving from the yards, and no one attempted the feat again.
In the next few days everyone settled into the routine of the ship. Those who had been sick found their sea-legs, and the amateur sailors became more competent, no longer looking blank when told to hoist the course or fasten the clews. Each watch, helped by the patient coaching of its regular crew members, forged itself into a more or less efficient team, and an element of friendly rivalry began to show itself. And as leaders emerged among the guest-crew members, the officers unobtrusively stepped into the background to keep a watching brief.
It was soon obvious to everyone on board that the two most competitive watches were the first mate’s and the fourth’s, and that Reid and Annys were providing the impetus. If one watch hoisted the full set of sails in eight minutes, the other did it in seven and a half. When one had all its members up the rigging in twenty seconds, the other achieved it in fifteen. When the wind died and they lowered the boats for races, Annys urged her watch to a victory won by inches, but in the tug-of-war on deck later Reid’s team brought them sprawling to a laughing defeat.
If Miko’s small size was sometimes a minus point for Annys and her watch, Xianthe was a handicap on Reid’s. He had coaxed her up into the rigging by holding on to her most of the time, constantly assuring her that he wouldn’t let her fall. After that she gamely took her place on the yards. With his support she joined in the various activities with gusto, and when they won the tug-of-war she cheered and threw her arms about his neck, receiving a laughing hug in return.
Of course it was all good fun; everyone treated the competition in a friendly spirit. Neither Reid nor Annys allowed their feelings to intrude on the pleasure of their shipmates. They didn’t talk to each other, but in the general laughter and teasing one-upmanship between the watches Annys thought no one had noticed.
Their progress was leisurely, and late one afternoon they anchored offshore from another, uninhabited, beach and took to the boats for a barbecue meal on land. Fresh fish and rock lobster were on the menu, caught by the crew with the eager help of some guest voyagers. The crew also pointed out a freshwater stream with a deep water hole ideal for bathing, and the women spent a luxurious half-hour bathing and washing their hair before reluctantly allowing the men their turn.
‘Real fresh water,’ Xianthe murmured, sharing a bottle of shampoo with Jane and Annys. ‘Oh, I hadn’t realised how much I missed it!’
Annys wondered sometimes if Xianthe had known what she was getting into when she had booked the trip. It was obvious that she wasn’t a particularly athletic person. She said she attended an aerobics class every week to keep in trim for her demanding career, but she seemed to regard it as a rigorous discipline rather than as something she did for pleasure.
Annys had to admire her determination. She never shirked, and seemed willing to try anything, even if she frequently made a mess of it. She would shrug off her failure with a rueful laugh and appeal for help to get it right.
She had a clear, true, though not powerful singing voice, and when they were all sitting round the dying fire after the barbecue it was Xianthe who led the singing. She was such a joy to listen to that once or twice the others let her carry on solo and applauded afterwards.
Annys looked across the fire at Reid, who was smiling as he clapped Xianthe’s rendering of ‘Summertime’. As she watched, he got up and went over to the other woman, his hand touching her shoulder in congratulation, their heads close as he bent over her raised face.
Annys got up and moved away from the fire, blindly heading along the cool sand in the darkness.
The voices of the others followed her, the sand gleaming pale, and the moonlight glimmered here and there on white waves shushing along the shore. She walked to the water and let it curl over her toes, the tiny bubbles hissing as it receded. The salty, clean smell of the sea mingled with the deep, rich scent of the bush that grew to the sand’s edge. A rustling among the blackness of the trees made her swing round, startled.
‘It’s only me,’ Tancred’s voice said. ‘That you, Annys?’
‘Yes. I didn’t know anyone else was out here.’
‘Call of nature,’ he explained, coming to join her at the water’s edge. ‘Lovely night, isn’t it?’
‘Lovely,’ she agreed absently.
‘Too good to waste?’ he suggested tentatively, his hands going lightly to her shoulders. There had been an unaccustomed amount of liquor consumed tonight, not least by him. Usually the ‘grog’ was strictly rationed to a couple of glasses of wine or beer at dinner, but the captain had been lenient tonight.
Annys evaded him, laughing. ‘Too lovely to waste skirmishing,’ she told him. ‘I came for a walk, not a moonlight snog.’ Tancred was having a mid-life crisis, she had deduced. She gathered he’d always been something of a ladies’ man. Now, with his youth rapidly slipping away, he went through the motions with most women he met, but his heart wasn�
��t really in it.
‘You’re a hard, cold woman,’ Tancred complained. He was swaying slightly as he spoke. Even in the moonlight she thought his eyes looked somewhat unfocused.
‘Yes,’ Annys agreed cheerfully. ‘Come on,’ she added, taking his arm to steady him. ‘Let’s go back.’
By the time they reached the circle round the fire he was leaning rather heavily on her shoulder, and she’d had to put an arm about his waist to keep him from stumbling. She was glad to relinquish her hold and let him sink to the sand, where he sat cross-legged and carefully straight-backed. Jane grinned at her, brows raised, and Annys sat down between her and Tancred and said quietly, ‘I found him alone and palely loitering along the beach. I think he needed someone to point him in the right direction.’
Tancred must have heard part of it. He turned to Annys and said dramatically, ‘Ah, la belle dame sans merci! You’ve broken my heart, you know.’
Annys laughed. Just as well he didn’t have to swim back to the ship tonight. She looked across the lowering flame and saw Reid lounging along the sand in front of Xianthe. But he was looking at Annys, a disgusted expression on his face, mixed with anger.
He had no right, she thought confusedly, to look at her like that, anger of her own rising in response. She stared defiantly back at him, and when Tancred dropped a heavy arm across her shoulder again she let it lie there. There was no harm in him, and she wasn’t going to create an unpleasant scene about a little over-amorousness just because Reid seemed to have taken it on himself to disapprove. He was certainly in no position to be throwing stones.
Some people elected to stay ashore that night, dragging sleeping bags on to the sand. Annys was tempted, but, when she saw Reid preparing to stay, changed her mind and went back to the ship. To lie awake, hot and restless and wishing she had taken the chance of sleeping under the stars.
In the morning they tramped into the bush, the ground mushy under their feet with centuries of leaf-fall. Tiny creepers and intricate mosses grew alongside the barely discernible path, and they had to push back springy twigs laden with leaves to get through the close-growing trees. Huge ferns spread their silver-lined leaves over the trampers’ heads. Of the trees that jostled each other, competing for the light, Annys recognised graceful weeping miro, and of course the giant kauri—enormously thick mottled grey trunks rising branchless, soaring above everything else until their crowns burst through the canopy to dominate the forest.